storybook endings
by wild wolf free17
Summary: drabbles based on fairy tales. up now: The Nightingale
1. Snow White

Prompt: Snow White

Disclaimer: not my characters

* * *

The boy is beautiful, too beautiful to be anything but marble. He is almost her rival, and that cannot be allowed. She watches him through the glass, watches him weave and duck, watches him tumble and sprint, watches him swing a blade and sever a head.

He is so very beautiful, no matter what he does. He is more beautiful than her step-daughter was, which she had thought to be impossible.

No matter. The spell is simple, the ingredients gathered, and she waves his image away. Time to prepare.

The spell is simple and her powers grow with her age. Besides, there are no true loves or princes anymore. She will not tolerate equals, not since that brat nearly destroyed her by batting her eyelashes and laughing coquettishly.

"Mirror, mirror," she whispers, lighting a candle. "I'll be the fairest of all."


	2. The Little Mermaid

Prompt: The Little Mermaid

Disclaimer: not my characters

* * *

"You want to see your brother again?" the demon demands, host's eyes blood-red. "You'll have to make a sacrifice."

All the lectures Dad ever gave are forgotten, pushed aside by fear and sorrow and an ocean of regret. "Anything," he says. "Anything that's mine to give is yours."

The host's body is large, towering over him, dark skin and hair turning white. The demon holds out a hand. "Anything?" it asks. "Powerful word, that." It smirks, pulling him close, placing the host's mouth a breath away. "You sure, boy? You won't get a do-over."

"I'm sure." His voice is strong; his soul is shaking.

"Done," the demon whispers, lips dry and chapped against his. It pulls back and says, "Go home. You'll wake tomorrow in the world that was, your brother yours again."

He opens his mouth, but the demon holds up a hand. "Not a word between now and dawn, or the deal is forfeit."

He nods and turns, hurries back to Dad's car and breaks the limit on the way home.

Dad is still passed out, dried tears gleaming by light of the TV. He kisses Dad's forehead in forgiveness-no matter what he screamed before he left, he knows it wasn't Dad's fault-and goes to what had been a shared room. His brother is not there. Clothes still cover the floor, testament to his tantrum, papers and debris spread all over.

A part of him thinks his brother will walk in any minute. It hurts.

_You'll wake tomorrow in the world that was, your brother yours again._

He curls up in his brother's bed and dreams of his brother ever-present, warm and boisterous and alive.

o0o

Sam wakes to Dean shoving him out of bed. "Dude," he says, "my property, 'member?"

He opens his mouth to cry "You're alive!" but no sound comes out.


	3. Swan Lake

Prompt: Swan Lake

Disclaimer: not my characters

* * *

Three months. Three goddamned fucking _months_, and neither hide nor hair of Sammy. No hint at all. Not since that night they challenged the-wizard? Warlock? Male witch?- Dean still doesn't know what to call the bastard, but he waved his hand and Sam vanished. Right in front of Dean's eyes. Poof. Not even a puff of smoke and _no more Sammy._

After slamming the son-of-a-bitching-whore into the wall and beating him bloody, Dean still knew nothing more. The bastard never said a word. He met Dean's eyes and he smirked and he laughed when Dean shoved a knife into his belly and pulled it across, spilling his guts all over the floor.

Dean burned the old warehouse down around the corpse after collecting all of the magical paraphernalia, which included a spellbook written in blood, and called Bobby. He's called Bobby every day since, and Ellen, and Jefferson and Joshua and Missouri.

Bobby scoured the spellbook before finally deciding Sam had been transformed and sent away somewhere, but he didn't know the destination. So Dean drove, searching for his little brother. Bobby was sure he'd know when he found the right place.

_And what'll I do when I find him?_ he'd asked Bobby. _Bring him back here, you'll work some mojo?_

_No_, Bobby answered. _If that bastard did what I think he did, you have to break the spell, Dean._

_And if he didn't?_ Dean asked.

Bobby shrugged. _Then I'm sorry, kid_. Bobby looked away. _I don't know of a single magic-user in the world powerful enough to turn Sam back. _

So Dean drives because Bobby says he'll know and Bobby is always right.

o0o

But three months turn into six into a year into a year and a half. He never finds Sam. He can barely remember Mom and Dad's voice has faded, and now he can't recall the color of Sam's eyes.

And then-and then. He turns the car into the long, gravel-strewn drive of a third-rate petting zoo just because. He parks in the muddy lot and walks around the too-small enclosures, looking looking looking-_there_. An itty-bitty little fox thing with ears the size of planets. It goes crazy when it sees him, yipping and jumping, throwing itself against the chicken-wire.

"Calm down, Sammy," he says, crouching. He peers around before pulling out his lock-pick; once he's got Sam free, he tucks the itty-bitty little fox thing into his jacket and calmly walks back to his car.

o0o

The sun is just starting to set when Dean pulls off the road again, twenty miles from Sam's prison. Sam's spent the whole drive yipping and barking, bouncing around the passenger seat. Dean's spent it trying not to cry because he finally has Sam back.

"Sammy," he says. "Fuck, Sammy."

Sam-_ripples_ is the only word for it. He whimpers and screams, and then he's Sam again, Sammy hunched over shotgun, whole frame trembling.

"Shit, that hurts more each time," he mutters.

Dean stares before reaching out to touch Sam's shoulder. "Sammy?"

Sam, human and naked and _here_, slowly turns his head. "Dean?" He blinks and jerks a little, like he's about to reach out, and then he pounces, pulling Dean against his chest, arms tight around him. "DeanDeanDean_Dean_," he says all in one breath. "Dean."

Into his shoulder, Dean murmurs, "You're never leavin' me again, hear? If I have to lock you in Bobby's panic-room, I swear to God I will."

And Sam fucking _glows_, an intense, white-hot light.

"What the fuck?" Dean demands, yanking back.

Sam smiles a watery smile, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I'm me again," he says. "For good."

Dean grins, too, still not understanding, but-Sam. He lets Sam enfold him in another hug without a grumble, and if he sniffles a bit, raising a hand to tangle in Sam's hair? Neither of them are ever going to mention it.


	4. The Nightingale

**Prompt**: Hans Christian Anderson's _The Nightingale_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

* * *

There was once a warrior who married a beautiful woman, the daughter of an even better warrior and a powerful enchantress. They were very happy for a time, until an evil wizard visited. He killed the beautiful woman, but the warrior was able to save their two sons.

Many years passed. The warrior went back to war and trained his sons to follow his path. The elder boy, who looked very much like his mother, embraced his father's training. He remembered what the wizard took that night and he wanted vengeance.

But the younger boy—he followed the lessons at first because he idolized the warrior and adored his brother. After he turned thirteen, though—he wanted out. He had wearied of guns and blood. He did not want to go to war.

The warrior had two sons. The elder—named _Dean_ by his mother, for her powerful and beautiful mother—was a perfect, dutiful child. He obeyed his father and took care of his brother and dreamed of his mother, her hands and her voice.

Often, the warrior would say, _Why can't you be like your brother, Sam?_ for Sam was the younger boy's name. His mother had named him, too, for her warrior father. He had been a strong, proud man; his grandson was much like him.

_I want out!_ Sam would yell at his father. Sometimes they didn't speak to each other for days.

Dean stayed out of it. He refused to choose a side. Both of them privately thought of him as a traitor.

When Sam was eighteen, the warrior said, _If you leave, don't come back._

Sam listened and left. Dean said nothing for months. He followed his father's orders but never spoke, and the warrior remembered those months after the wizard's attack, when his lovely wife was killed.

_Dean_, he begged after a few too many beers. _Dean, please, son, talk to me. Say something!_

Dean had his mother's eyes. It was half a year before he spoke again.

He and his father continued the war, small skirmishes and battles that barely registered with the evil wizard they chased. Across the countryside they left their mark in people preserved and darkness defeated.

And young Sam went to school where he tried to forget all he knew. He met a pretty girl who looked like his mother and made a life with her.

One day, four years after Sam left, his brother Dean visited. Dad's missing, he said, and Sam went on a journey with him. The wizard that killed their beautiful mother came in the night and stole Sam's future wife.

Sam became a warrior. He caught up with his brother and together they made a name from coast to coast. They surpassed their father's skill, and their grandfather's, too.

They found their father and left him again. They fought and bled and killed, until finally—finally—

The evil wizard that stalked Sam twice confronted him wearing the warrior's skin, and said, _Hey, kiddo_.

He laughed and tortured Dean within a heartbeat of his life; his blood flowed out in rivers and Sam begged the wizard to stop.

_I'll do anything_, he promised.

_Anything_, the wizard drawled. _Powerful word, that._

The wizard released his hold on Dean and Sam watched in horror as his brother fell to the floor, unmoving.

The wizard grinned and strode to Sam, looked him eye-to-eye. _Come with me, Sammy_, he said. _Come with me and I'll let them both live._

Sam looked at his brother, barely breathing, blood sluggishly flowing onto the floor. _Yes_, Sam agreed.

The wizard smiled, left the warrior's body, and said, _You'll know when to meet me, kiddo._

Months passed. Dean healed and the warrior agreed to stay. Sam never forgot his deal with the wizard and one night, as his father and Dean slept, he knew the moment had come.

Sam left no note. He kissed Dean's forehead and patted his father's shoulder. He looked back once, as he stood on the threshold, before gently closing the door and striding into the darkness.

And so, the story goes, there once was a warrior who had two sons. One son, the elder, embraced the fighting arts and flourished; he surpassed his father's legend before his thirtieth year.

The younger son, though, vanished after the great battle with the evil wizard and was only seen again on the killing field.

He stared into his brother's eyes and hesitated, lowering his hand. His father lunged at the wizard, who laughed—and Dean said, _Come back. Sammy—come back_.

Sam choked on a sob. _How?_ he asked. _I can't_—

Dean let his knife fall and uncocked his gun. He stepped in close, hand on Sam's shoulder.

The warrior roared and the wizard screamed.

The brothers stood in silence, breathing each other's breath.

_Come home_, Dean said.

Sam replied, _Yes_.


End file.
